Seven Years
by Lear's Daughter
Summary: Ria ponders the revelations from Sweet Sixteen.  She comes to a realization that pleases her immensely.  Then Reynolds makes her realize the truth, which is not so pleasing.  Angsty.  Cal/Gillian friendship.


Disclaimer: I don't own _Lie to Me_.

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Seven years.

Out of all the surprises and revelations from the terrible incident of Doyle and the car bomb, that's the one that Ria can't get out of her head. Even as Loker was falling to pieces in front of her, even as they worked to uncover a conspiracy, even as she looked after Emily while Lightman was away, Ria couldn't stop thinking about it.

Even now, days, weeks after the incident, she can't stop thinking about it.

Seven years.

She's young enough that a year still seems like a long time. But when she stops to think about it rationally—pushing her emotions to the side, as Lightman's always trying to teach her to do—a year isn't much time at all. A year. That's how long she's worked for Lightman. That's how long it's been since she was lifted from lowly servitude as a TSA agent and honored for having a certain kind of genius. It's how long she's known Loker.

In the scheme of things, a year's hardly anything.

Seven years.

That's how long Lightman's known Foster. That's it. Seven years. Which means that it was only six years when Ria first met them. And that's what she can't wrap her brain around.

If anyone had asked her, before Doyle and the car bomb, how long she thought Lightman and Foster had known each other, she might have flippantly answered, "From the cradle." She would have known the answer was wrong, of course—among other factors, he's older than Foster and English—but it would have _felt_ right, because that's the way they act, as if they've known each other forever.

She's been envious of their friendship since the day she met them. Oh, it's not so much that she wishes Lightman were as tender towards her as he is towards Foster—in fact, Ria would probably freak out if he ever treated her with the faintly patronizing, overly protective attitude he uses towards Foster—as that she wishes he could see her as someone who has worth beyond just what she can do. She can't help being a natural, the same way she can't help but breathe. There's a lot more to her than that, though, and it frustrates, infuriates, and saddens her to know that Lightman will never bother to recognize that.

Except, maybe he will.

Seven years.

Seven years from now, Ria will be 31. Still young, perhaps married or in a serious relationship. Maybe working directly for the State Department, or trying to start her own version of the Lightman Group. Or maybe by then she'll have earned Lightman's trust, his respect, and she'll be an equal partner in the Lightman Group with him and Foster. After all, it took less than seven years for Lightman and Foster to develop the closeness she sees between them every day.

Seven years.

If it's possible to get to know Cal Lightman in seven years, then perhaps he's not as distant or untouchable as Ria's been led to believe. After the incident with Jenkins the serial rapist, when Lightman made it very clear that Ria had a very, very long way to go, when Lightman conned them all, Jenkins and Ria and Foster included, she began to fear that she might never be able to match him. Now, she thinks maybe he isn't the distant god she's sometimes imagined him to be.

Unfortunately, she has this revelation while in the same room as Lightman, and of course he catches the millisecond of shock and comprehension on her face.

"What is it?" he demands, and it takes her a moment to realize he thinks she noticed something on the video of a murder suspect.

"It's nothing," she says quickly, working hard to prevent a tell-tale twitch of her cheek or one-sided shrug.

He stares at her, assessing, his eyes narrowed the way they get when he's reading someone's thoughts. She struggles to project boredom and calm.

Finally, he nods and looks away. She breathes a sigh of relief—and realizes her mistake when his gaze snaps back to her.

She escapes from the meeting some ten minutes later, feeling like she's spent those ten minutes stripped naked in front of him (and damn him, anyway, for probing where he isn't welcome). The only thing that makes his suspicious scrutiny bearable is the knowledge she now carries, tucked away deep inside her mind where he will never find it. The knowledge that Cal Lightman is human after all.

"What're you smiling about?" Ben Reynolds asks, walking up to stand beside her chair, where she sits watching a replay of the same video Lightman had shown during their meeting.

She doesn't want to share everything she's realized, but she can share this much. "It amazes me, that Lightman and Foster have only known each other for seven years."

Ben blinks. "Why?" He sounds genuinely confused, which surprises her. He's no deception expert, but he _is_ a very intelligent man.

"They're so comfortable together! I mean, I'd have thought it must have taken them at least a decade to develop that level of familiarity."

Ben smiles sadly and puts his hand on her shoulder. "I think you're operating under a misconception, Ria," he says. Something in his voice tells her he understands way more than she meant to reveal.

"What are you talking about?"

"It didn't take Cal and Gillian seven years to get as close as they are. I doubt it took them seven days."

Ria frowns. "I don't follow."

Ben pats her shoulder, then lets his hand drop. "Ria, sometimes people just…mesh. They understand each other without using words, they're comfortable with each other despite not being comfortable with anyone else. I've seen it a couple of times in FBI partners, usually the best of the best. And I see it in Cal and Gillian."

"What are you saying?" Ria says, though the sinking feeling in her gut tells her she already knows the answer to her question.

"I'm saying that you shouldn't invest too much of yourself in trying to get Cal to look at you the way he looks at Gillian. I'm sorry, Ria, but it's just not going to happen. If it was going to, it would have happened months ago."

She can't think of anything to say, is aware of the stricken expression on her face but can't muster the strength to wipe it away. Eventually Ben awkwardly clears his throat and walks away, sensing that she needs to be alone.

She stares at the TV screen for a long time.

Maybe it isn't that Lightman's actually human, she thinks savagely. Maybe the reason he and Foster get along so well is that _she_ isn't human, either.

But she knows that's not fair. Foster's a good, caring person, so much Lightman's opposite in every way. And Ria's Lightman's protégé, not his partner. Perhaps it was naïve of her to ever hope for him to see her as something other than an overemotional burden.

Oh, Lightman cares about her in his own way, she knows that. But seven years from now he's still going to be a stranger to her in all the ways that count. Seven years from now, she'll still be a stranger to him.


End file.
